Hope Lost
by Harriet Telcontar Holmes
Summary: Oneshot, movieverse: Minerva McGonagall's thoughts in the courtyard directly after Dumbledore's death.


A/N: This story follows the movie-verse of the ending of HBP because I haven't seen many of those around. Also, please note that I am not a native speaker of English, though I of course do my best to correct any mistakes.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me. I'm only borrowing J.K.

Rowling's fantastic characters and promise to return them quite unharmed.

**Hope Lost**

It was dark in the courtyard where she was standing. No light came from above where the Dark Mark was hovering and shrouding the stars from sight. It seemed to be grinning at the tiny beings beneath it, mocking them.

Minerva was looking at the shell of them one who had been the best and the wisest of them all. Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age. Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.

All titles he had accumulated over the course of his illustrious life. But what did they matter to him? What did he care when the Ministry took them away from him as long as he was not taken off the Chocolate Frog cards, sweets which he adored nearly as much as his beloved lemon drops.

A sob threatened to force its way out of Minerva's throat, but she swallowed it. The students were looking distraught and scared enough without the added shock of seeing their normally stern Deputy Headmistress succumb to tears in front of them.

She looked around and saw all the students staring at the body at the foot of the tower. Many, such as the Patil twins were crying openly, some tried to conceal their grief and yet some others seemed unable to grasp the reality of what had happened. They could not believe that the man who had always been a symbol of hope and security to them was lying in front of them, as mortal as anyone else.

Among these were two of her lions, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. They were the only ones, whose eyes were not directed solely at Albus's body, but darting around anxiously, as though they were waiting for someone. And then the reason for their concern came walking through the rows of petrified students and teachers.

The third member of the Golden Trio passed his friends without acknowledging them. Harry Potter, another one of her lion cubs, seemed to be in shock. His face was utterly expressionless, but Minerva could tell from the way he was holding himself that he was only keeping himself composed with great difficulty.

Potter had always been more of a grandson than a student to the old headmaster. How often had she observed Albus watching him over the years, laughing with his friends, trying to cope with the latest tragedy in his life – of which there had been more than enough, thank you very much – or playing Quidditch for his house team

She remembered how proud he had been, when Potter had won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor or after he had saved his godfather from the Dementor's Kiss, how much he had regretted having ignored the boy during his fifth year at Hogwarts and how much he had enjoyed spending time with Potter this past year, even if it was only to teach him about You-Know-Who's past (he had told her about this when she had asked and, truth be told, she felt very privileged that he had trusted her enough to confide in her).

Oh yes, Minerva McGonagall knew about the headmaster's affection for Harry Potter and she also knew that the boy had trusted and respected Dumbledore just as much. Why did it always have to end this way? Was it not enough that both had had their families taken way from them? Surely, they of all people deserved happiness after all they had suffered.

The young man in question had now reached his mentor's body and knelt beside him. His attempts at keeping his emotions in check were failing more than ever. Potter reached over and brushed back the long white hair that covered Albus's face and looked into the aged face before him.

No one said anything. The bond between the two was well-known and, although not everyone approved of it, they respected it at this moment.

Minerva looked back at the boy's best friends. Miss Granger had tears running down her cheeks, now that she was no longer distracted from the scene in front of her and Weasley did not seem to have any idea what he should do.

Both were looking at their closest friend, grieving with him, but at the same time utterly helpless. How well Minerva knew that feeling of helplessness, this desperate need to help a friend, but knowing that any comfort that may be offered can never be enough.

Her heart gave an almighty tug when she saw – and, what was worse, heard – her lion break down in great heaving sobs. As she watched, a lone figure stepped towards him and, kneeling down, wrapped her arms around the grieving boy. The girl who was letting him sob into her shoulder was, of course, none other than Ginny Weasley, Ronald's younger sister and Potter's girlfriend.

Well, if anyone could console him, she would certainly be the one.

Knowing that, for now, at least, nothing more could be done for Potter, Minerva raised her wand to the skies, where the Dark Mark, this symbol of death, was staring down at them maliciously. And that night it was not just any death – if there was such a thing – no, this was the death of the greatest headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. But it would mock them no more, not if Minerva had anything to do with it.

A soft light emanated from her wand and a tiny pinprick of light broke through the Mark's dark cloudy mass. Others were joining in, students and teachers alike, all raising their wands in memory of Albus Dumbledore and all looking at the broken forms of man and boy in front of them, a broken body ad a broken heart.

As her gaze travelled upwards, Minerva caught a glimpse of Poppy Pomfrey's expression, a woman whom she had known for many years and whom she knew to possess extraordinary strength in the face of sickness and death. Looking at her now, eyes red and cheeks wet, face contorted by grief, the devastating truth finally hit Minerva and, with a pang she realized that nothing would, ever could be the same again.

Where was hope now? Lost, that's where it was.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. For me Pomfrey's face in that scene just did it for me. If I hadn't been bawling like baby by then anyway, then I would have started then.


End file.
